It was in the rush of a time limit.
A three-minute flood of words
That washed over our ears,
Sped past the dam of interpretation
On its way to a steady flow of silence.

The reader, the captain of this piece
Swept by us at flank speed—
A lost ship far from
The friendly port of our fragile bones—
Beyond the tributaries of our porous hearts
Never meant to be this cold and empty.